The Craftsman and the Prince
by Staggering Wood-Elf
Summary: Written for Mouse's Valentines Challenge. Fëanor and Nerdanel love-fluff.


  
  


**The Craftsman and the Prince**   
_Fëanor and Nerdanel, for valentine's day..._

  
  
  
When Nerdanel heard the footsteps at the door, she knew immediately who it was. No other in Tirion walked with such a confident, self-assured tread, his steps slow, lazily arrogant. It was just like him to appear now, after being away from the city for almost a year in the wild lands, studying the animals and plants of the Blessed Realm. The eldest prince of Tirion was never at rest, and now even the mighty white walls of the city could not restrain him in his quest for knowledge. He had not bid her good-bye.   
She also knew he had come to apologise. No, he would not call it that, he was too proud to humble himself to another, particularly to a lowly smith. Since he had been given the status as Master, he had taken great pleasure in exercising his new rank over the other craftsmen under Mahtan's guidance, although many said he was the equal of Mahtan himself. Fëanor was become proud. He would twist his words as usual, and of course he would expect to be forgiven.   
Fine, let him try. He wasn't about to win her over.   
Bending her head forward slightly to hide her smile, Nerdanel began to make long, smooth strokes with her tool, creating a curved edge to the metal. Small curls of silver began to accumulate around the vice, twisted like little tongues of fire. She concentrated hard on creating the most perfect surface possible, ignoring the presence of the other in the workshop.   
She was so engrossed in her work that she did not notice when the footsteps stopped. Dust settled, gleaming in the fading light of Laurelin. The workshop became silent and still, the peace broken only by the sound of her jeweller's file on the silver.   
Then, she felt a pair of lips gently brush her neck from behind, followed by a hot flame of breath. Startled, she let her file slip, creating a deep groove in the silver.   
Ruined. Now she'd have to start again. She sighed and began to brush the silver filings from the tool, trying her best to ignore the elf behind her.   
"And what are you making this time, my craftsman?" he said, his voice low and smooth, refined by a life at court. His work-calloused hands began to wind their way around her waist, and to her dismay, Nerdanel found herself blushing. Her concentration utterly broken, she put down the file and replaced his hands at his sides.   
"Nothing of interest to you, prince."   
"What a terrible pity," he murmured into her hair. He found the very tip of her ear, and planted a gentle kiss on it. "I had rather hoped my favourite craftsman might have made me a present."   
"I am afraid your hope is vain, my Lord," Nerdanel said politely.   
"Such a shame."   
"I know. My father has been terribly busy. He has no time to make presents for absentee princes."   
If he caught the reproach in her voice he did not show it, giving a soft laugh. His hands moved to her shoulders, skilful fingers untangling the bindings of her leather apron.   
"No," she said firmly, taking up the file again, "I am not finished."   
"And how much longer must I wait?"   
Nerdanel considered. "Until you have apologised."   
One dark eyebrow shot up. "Apologised?"   
"Yes."   
"And what apology would a craftsman command of a prince?"   
"For being away for too long. For neglecting your city and your work."   
"Is that all? Should I go and declare from the palace that I am most sincerely sorry for any trouble my studies have caused my people?"   
"I have thought of you this last year," Nerdanel said, turning round fully to face him. In the mingled tree-light her hair shone a rich auburn, and her ruddy cheeks and brown eyes became soft. Fëanor's hair was dark and gleaming, perfectly kept as usual, and bound with a circlet of silver.   
"Even if you had no thought of me, you were in my mind..."   
"You think I was idle in my time away from the city?" he said, taking her hand. Usually Fëanor hated that open sign of affection. "Hands are for making, not holding," he always said. "Love dulls the will and cages the soul. I shall never be wed." But now he was gripping her hand most insistently, and his eyes were shining.   
"Then perhaps I am the one deserving an apology, that you think so little of me."   
A cold, perfect circle of metal was in her palm. Breathing in, she felt its roundness, its smooth form, and knew at once the identity of the smith. However, a greater surprise was Fëanor's face. Never before had she seen him unsure about any of his creations, yet now, it seemed that he did not know whether his gift would delight or not.   
"Have a look, then," he said.   
Nerdanel slowly opened her hand. It was a ring of plain copper, smooth and flawlessly formed, gleaming like her hair in the blended light. To most it would seem little, yet as Nerdanel turned the ring over in her work-hardened hands, she felt the soft, shimmering flame that was Fëanor's soul. He had bound himself to the ring, so whoever wore it would always carry a little part of his fire with them.   
"Well," she said. "This won't do at all. The custom demands a ring of silver. I was making you one, before you came in and spoiled it," she said, indicating the notched ring in the vice.   
Fëanor took it and examined the ring closely. "I like it, actually."   
"Why? I can make another, you know. That scratch won't file out."   
"You made it. That is enough for me, and it has you in it. I shall always remember how it came by that scratch..."   
"Oh. But people will think... it is the custom that..."   
"Ah yes," Fëanor said, the beginning of a dark smile on his face. "And we have always followed custom."   
Nerdanel shrugged. "Princes are supposed to."   
"Come and kiss me, craftsman." Fëanor said, his smile now broad.   
"As my prince commands," she laughed, allowing his arms to close around her. His skin was always so warm to the touch, burning with the gentle flame that was his soul.   
"Nerdanel?"   
"Mmm?"   
"Put the damn ring on..."   
  
**~End**  



End file.
